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All good things must come to an end eventually…but not in this chapter.
Chapter Nineteen: CoterieHarry didn't like what he had to do.
But he knew it had to be done.
You've been thinking those two thoughts for the last half hour, Sylarana pointed out, sliding up towards his neck. Think about something else. This is boring.
Harry reached up and stroked her back. I'm sorry. I'm just—I don't want to do this.
That's only a small variation on the general theme, said Sylarana. Vary it more. I would like to see some variation in your head. Think about food. The Feast will start soon. She sounded as if she would be drooling, if snakes could drool.
Harry nodded. They were already sitting in the Great Hall. The doors would soon open, and food would appear on the plates, and the students who had gone home for the Christmas holidays would reappear…
And his thoughts stuttered to a halt and returned to their circle.
Harry.
He blinked and looked down as Sylarana stuck her head out of his robe. She almost never called him by his name, as though she thought her intimacy in his head would give him a good enough idea of who she was talking to. Yes, Sylarana? he asked, since that seemed to be what she wanted.
It will go well, she said, and nudged at the side of his neck. Relax. You have me in your head to warn you if you're about to do something stupid. She turned and slithered back down his arm again.
Harry let out a short, harsh breath and turned as the doors opened. Draco, sitting beside him, the only other student at the Slytherin table, squeezed his arm. "I'll be right behind you," he whispered.
"Only if you promise not to talk," Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Would I say anything to mess this up?" Draco said back. His face was the picture of shining innocence when Harry looked at him.
"Yes, you would," said Harry darkly. "Well, fine then. You can come with me, but if you annoy him in any way then you're not getting your Christmas present."
Draco perked up. "You got me a Christmas present?" He said it loudly enough that heads started to turn—including, Harry saw, heads among the returning Gryffindors. He grimaced. He wanted things to happen when they were supposed to. He was going to have a confrontation with Connor and force his brother to acknowledge him, but only on his own terms.
"Yes!" he hissed back. "Why do you think I made you leave the hospital wing those times that Hedwig returned with my post? Now, shut up. Or you won't get your gift."
"What about my parents?" Draco asked with a slight whine in his throat. "It wouldn't be fair to punish them for something I did."
"When did you ever care about fair?" Harry could see Connor now, messy dark hair marking him out in a crowd of red-haired Weasleys. He didn't look at the Slytherin table. From the way he walked and laughed and talked, it might as well not even have existed. Harry swallowed bile, which burned all the way down. Not this time, brother. This time, you are going to acknowledge me.
"I care about fair," Draco insisted. "When it applies to my family, at least. And why are you watching that prat now? You're supposed to be talking to me."
Reluctantly, Harry shifted his attention back to Draco. "I got your mother a swan," he said. "It's made of crystal, and enchanted to act as a mirror when she, and only she, speaks her name to it. Saying her name twice will cause it to animate and fly to you or your father as a message if she's in danger."
Draco looked impressed. "That's a paranoid gift, Harry, even if it is brilliant."
Harry shrugged. "I thought it would work," he muttered. "And I got your father a triangular piece of ebony, cut like the ice on my ring."
There was a long moment of silence. Harry could see Draco trying to work that one out, and failing. He really didn't have as much of an education in the ancient pureblood ways as he should, though Harry supposed he couldn't blame him for that. Draco had been educated in the modern dances, and that was the most anyone could expect of a normal wizarding heir.
"Why?" Draco asked at last.
"He'll know why," Harry answered. "Ask him, if you really want to. It was the same reason he sent me the ice ring."
Draco looked as if he would ask more, but Blaise dropped into a seat on the other side of him just then and leaned over to ask how Christmas holidays had gone, giving Harry an abstracted smile while he was at it. Draco turned away to answer, and left Harry free to watch Connor.
For a moment.
"Potter."
Harry blinked and glanced over his shoulder. Millicent Bulstrode, who never talked to him much at all, stood there, frowning at him. She had her arms folded across her chest, making her an even more impressive sight; she was both taller and stronger than he was. Her dark eyes were fastened to his face as if nailed there.
"Yes, Bulstrode?" he asked at last, when it became clear that she wasn't going away.
"Are you recovered from your possession by Riddle, then?" she asked.
Harry stared at her. Then he said, "Who said that was what happened to me?"
"I hear things," said Millicent vaguely. "I just want to know if you're recovered, or if you're going to come at night and kill us all in our beds."
"Of course not," said Harry, still trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.
Millicent eyed him, then added, "I hear things on the second floor," and turned away. Harry watched her back as she sat down, then decided she'd been trying to unnerve him. After all, the bathroom the basilisk had somehow come out of was on the second floor, and the attacks had happened there, too. Of course it would make sense to say that she'd heard about Riddle on the second floor.
Dinner appeared then, in the midst of a speech by Dumbledore that Harry didn't pay any attention to. Dumbledore knew what he was planning to do tonight, and he'd given Harry not only approval but permission. It is time that Connor be made to understand what his actions do to others, he had said. They might cause people to turn against him someday, and then how can he be a leader?
Harry had pointed out that he would never turn against his brother, and Dumbledore had laughed indulgently and patted his shoulder, pointing out that loyalty had to expand outwards from him. Connor would hold him, of course, but at the moment, it looked as though he and Harry had turned against each other. Other students had to see that Harry and Connor were loyal to one another before they could be loyal to the future savior of the wizarding world.
Harry barely knew what he was eating, as he stared across the room at Connor throughout dinner. The only interruptions were Sylarana nudging him for a piece of food, or asking when the treacle tart would arrive. Treacle tart! appeared with regular exuberance in Harry's head, making an odd contrast with the focus of his thoughts. Want treacle tart!
Dinner finished at last. Harry stood up. Eyes came to him at once, mostly curious. Everyone knew by now that he'd fainted and spent time in the hospital wing, though Harry hoped most of the students—Millicent excepted for whatever reason—remained ignorant of why.
He pretended not to notice the glares among the glances, mostly from the Ravenclaw table, and ambled out of the room. He would wait for Connor to leave. He was not going to force his brother into acknowledgment of him in front of the Great Hall. He thought their last confrontation hadn't worked well partially because it was so public. If he faced Connor in an isolated corner of the entrance hall, his brother's reactions were more likely to be sincere.
Perhaps, said Sylarana, who was so full of treacle tart that Harry had thought she'd gone to sleep. On the other hand, he is a prat.
"I don't think he's a prat all the time," Harry whispered, pacing back and forth to work off some of the nervous energy that filled him. Draco gave him a curious glance, than an annoyed one. His latest trick was to be jealous of Sylarana, because she could speak into Harry's thoughts and he couldn't. Harry thought that was absolutely ridiculous, and did them both the favor of ignoring it. "Just some of the time. And this time—well, I just need answers. That doesn't mean that he's a prat to ignore me like he's been doing."
Draco began speaking in a bored drawl, as though he were musing aloud and Harry just happened to be in the vicinity. "Prats accuse their brothers of going Dark. Prats don't see the desperate measures that their brothers are taking just to try and stay alive. Prats don't visit their brothers in the hospital wing. Yes, I think Connor fits all the characteristics of a prat perfectly."
Harry spun around and glared at him. "It wasn't his fault! He's just a child, and I kept the measures from him, and, well, I'm sure he had a good reason for not visiting me in the hospital wing! He must."
"Harry," Draco said, catching and holding his eyes, "has it occurred to you that you think about him a lot more than he thinks about you?"
"Of course," said Harry. "That's the point. He has to divide his attention and time among many people who all need it. I'm just one person." He wondered why Draco had chosen to bring this up again. It was irrelevant. Or, rather, it was Draco understanding but then refusing to take it to heart.
"Maybe he doesn't deserve your intense consideration, either," said Draco carefully. "Maybe other people do."
"Like you," Harry said, with a sigh. "Yes, Draco, I know I haven't been the best of friends—"
"Like yourself," Draco cut in.
Harry didn't bother justifying that with an answer, as he looked sideways and saw Connor emerging from the Great Hall just then. He only had Ron and Hermione with him, wonder of wonders and thank Merlin. Ron walked close at Connor's side, as though he were going to take his wand out and hex anyone who so much as greeted him. Hermione walked a short distance behind, her face troubled.
"Connor," said Harry, and took a step forward.
Connor hunched his shoulders and kept walking.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Forgive me for the insult, brother, but you go too far. "Aren't you going to face me?" he asked. "I think a true Gryffindor would have. You lot are the House of courage, aren't you?"
That brought Connor spinning around, and Harry saw the mask on his eyes and face shatter, the anger and jealousy spewing forth in the next instant. "You lot?" he spat. "I should have known that you've given up wanting to be in Gryffindor, Harry. Getting all nice and comfortable in the viper pit?"
"Oh, no, you don't," said Harry, his voice so fierce that Connor stared at him and blinked. "We aren't talking about me now. We're talking about you. Why didn't you come and visit me in the hospital wing when I was sick? Were you too proud? Too nervous? Too afraid?"
Hermione turned a horrified gaze on Connor. Ron gave him a puzzled glance. "What's that, mate?" he asked. "You told me you visited him. That was the day you couldn't come to the Burrow because you were Apparating here with your parents, remember?"
Harry stared. He didn't tell them, either? He is acting like a coward, a liar—a Slytherin. I can't let that happen. If he keeps showing those qualities instead of the Gryffindor ones he needs, then Dumbledore is right, and no one is going to follow him.
And, of course, it made the confrontation much nastier than Harry would have envisioned, because it meant that Connor was forced into defending his honor. His eyes flashed, and he voiced a low growl that reminded Harry a lot of Sirius in his Animagus form.
"I didn't visit him because I couldn't stand to be in the same room with him!" he yelled, looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "For eleven years, he's always been there for me, and then—then he just turned on me, started acting like other people were more important, started acting like he was some big important someone! He should have been expelled, you know that! Any other student who went around Petrifying people would have! But no, not Harry Potter." Connor whirled, and his eyes were filled with loathing. "We were the ones who went around trying to save the school, just like last year when we guarded the Stone and defeated Voldemort. And my brother's trying to ruin it all."
"Bollocks," said a very loud voice behind Harry, before Harry could say anything.
He turned, ready to hiss at Draco for interrupting, but he realized quickly that Draco was standing, mouth open, just as dumbfounded as he was. Justin Finch-Fletchley was the one who had spoken, and he was striding forward from one cluster of students lingering around the argument, his wand out. Flanking him were Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan, and behind them trailed a blond boy whom Harry knew only vaguely. He thought his name was Smith. Zacharias Smith, or something similar.
The Hufflepuffs stepped up around Harry, and stopped. Smith worked his way to the right, but Hannah and Ernie stood on either side of him like guards, and Justin stepped out in front of him, his wand leveled Connor's way.
"What are you doing?" Connor asked. He looked as though someone had hit him in the head with a Blasting Curse. Harry, a little dazed himself, wondered if it came from the sight of other students defending Harry, or from the sight of Hufflepuffs doing so. "You know that he's evil. You were there when we made the accusations. You know that he only got away with them because he's Snape's pet."
"He saved my life," said Justin, loudly enough to be heard all over the entrance hall. Harry winced, but he didn't think he could step in; his shock had closed his throat off. "The monster was right around the corner. I saw its shadow. And then he shouted at it and made it back off. And since then he's been fine. He beat the possession. I've asked Professor Black about it. You should have, too," he added, eying Connor. "He's your brother, and I'm just his friend."
Connor worked his mouth, but apparently couldn't think of anything else to say.
"I don't know what you think you're playing at," said Justin, "coming up with high and mighty reasons to object to Harry when you're really just a jealous brat. But it's hurting Harry. So grow up, and get a mind, and stop it."
"I don't have to," said Connor, and Harry saw his inherent stubbornness come to life. "I'm trying to protect the school from evil. That's my duty."
"Oh, good," said Justin, giving him a fierce smile. Harry was reminded that, while snakes and lions might be more purely dangerous, angering a badger was a really bad idea. Also, a badger was much harder to detach from one's leg. "I was hoping you'd say that. That means that we have an excuse to stay around Harry and protect him from the kind of ambushes that your little friends will engineer." He glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "Sorry about this, mate, but I think it's the best course. Merlin knows what he'd try, otherwise. I know that you were ambushed and beaten once already."
"I really don't think that was Connor," Harry said, stating the truth.
Justin shrugged. "Yeah, but he was part of the reason that someone else did it, I bet. So we'll just stay here and make ourselves nice and comfortable."
"You can't come into the Slytherin common room," said Draco, snobbishly.
"Yes, I know that," said Justin patiently. "But we trust you to look after him there. We'll help guard him in the hallways outside."
"I really don't think this is necessary," said Harry as calmly as he could. He could see glimpses of Connor's face from the corner of his eyes, and that told him this was going all wrong. Connor was flushed and looked ready to cry. Harry had planned to be gentle, so gentle that his brother would forgive him almost before he knew what he was doing. It would show Connor to be capable of gentleness and mercy on his own, rather than being forced to them. And now the plan was in ruins again, and all because of something that, though Harry thought he might want it very much—he was tired of being alone—he did not need. "Thank you. I consider you a friend, Justin. But Connor doesn't need this, and neither do I."
"Oh, yes, he does," said Justin. "I think your brother needs to be taken down a peg or two. Zacharias?"
Harry blinked and looked at Smith. He sauntered forward a step, his eyes bright with an odd glow. Harry thought it very similar to the feverish look he'd seen Hermione get in pursuit of new knowledge, but with a distinctly cruel edge.
"Why did you decide that Harry was evil?" Smith asked Connor, in a calm and casual voice.
"Because he started possessing people," said Connor.
"How did you know he was possessing people?" Smith asked.
"It was obvious," Connor said shortly, and his face started to turn such a deep red that Harry was momentarily afraid he would snap and start shouting. "Once I heard what he was doing, and he—" He stopped.
Smith leaned forward and peered into Connor's face. "See," he said, with the air of a professor lecturing a student, "if I were thinking of reasons why my brother might do such things, then I would not think 'possession by an evil Dark Lord' right away. I would probably think that there was something else wrong. That he'd been falsely accused, maybe, or that he'd been blackmailed and forced into this, or even that he'd been tricked into it and honestly didn't think he was doing anything wrong until the first Petrification happened. It seems that you did none of those things. What a shame. Why did you think of possession?"
Connor mumbled something.
Smith cupped a hand around his ear and coughed politely. "I can't hear you," he said.
"Stop it," said Harry, abruptly knowing what Smith was trying to make Connor admit. He started to push forward, but Justin shook his head at him.
"He needs to be knocked down," said Justin. "Let him, Harry. He's an overbearing, pompous arse right now. Everyone in Hufflepuff thinks so, and I would imagine that even some of the Gryffindors are starting to believe it."
Harry stared at him.
Justin stared back, and then smiled, a smile with an emotion uncomfortably like pity somewhere in it. "I thought so," he said quietly. "You thought everyone believed him and hated you? Because that was what he said, wasn't it?"
Harry nodded, his head spinning. Did that mean that most of the school didn't think Connor was wonderful? Harry would have to not only repair the damage Connor had done but the damage that had gone on in people's minds? His title as the Boy-Who-Lived and the defeat of Voldemort last year hadn't sufficed to make most people listen to and trust him instinctively?
That put a different light on things. Harry stopped trying to move forward.
"Let Zacharias do this," Justin whispered. "He's the best I've ever heard at this. He's skeptical of everything. He even talks back to Professor Snape if he doesn't think the potions are made right. And people will take it better if they see it coming from someone who's not the person he's accusing, or a Slytherin."
Harry let Zacharias do it, but it was still painful to watch. He kept coaxing Connor to speak loudly, until Connor erupted in a burst of anger and humiliation, and then nodded like a wise parent.
"So you heard that your brother was possessed in confidence and then repeated it aloud for the whole school to hear? Tsk, tsk, Potter. That imaginary brother I don't have would have received my full support. I can't imagine having You-Know-Who in my head, and I don't want to, either. I'm sure it's not hygienic." Zacharias shuddered fastidiously. Someone laughed. Harry thought it was Millicent. "And then Harry beat him, and saved Justin's life," Zacharias went on, his voice effortlessly sliding into scorn. "That rather makes you look bad, doesn't it, that you're accusing him of being Dark? Especially since you betrayed him before anything happened."
Connor clenched his fists near his knees. "Then you tell me why he isn't Dark!"
Zacharias shook his head slowly. "You can't prove a negative, Potter. Pay attention to elementary logic, next time. And you have the burden of proof, since you're the one making the accusations."
"Fine!" Connor shouted. "Why do you think he's in Slytherin?"
"Because the Sorting Hat sat on his head and put him there," said Zacharias. There came some more open laughter from the gathering crowd at that. Harry could see his brother biting his lip until it turned bloody. "Slytherin isn't the evil House, you know, and Gryffindor isn't the good one. Try again, Potter. I am interested in seeing what you come up with next." He looked it.
"He beat me at Quidditch!" Connor tried.
"Someone has to win a game when two people play it," said Zacharias. "And he won that one, just like you won the one last year." He paused for a moment, then added, "Apparently, anyway."
Connor let out a screech and lunged for Zacharias.
"Forty points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student," said Snape's voice, and he swirled down on them. Harry frowned at him. He would have bet a large amount of Galleons that Snape had been watching the argument for some time, and hadn't made a move to interfere until Connor attacked. Snape simply returned Harry's gaze for an opaque moment, then smirked at Connor. "And a detention with me on Saturday night, Mr. Potter."
"Professor!" Connor wailed.
"Twenty more points for acting like a first-year," said Snape, and then swooped away. Harry scowled at his back. Snape didn't seem inclined to treat Connor any better than he had. Harry had hoped that Snape's slowly lessening hostility for him would eventually include his brother. Why not? Connor was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Snape hadn't been insistent that Harry was, lately. Perhaps he had finally seen the light.
Apparently not, Harry thought.
"Where do you want to go, Harry?" Justin asked as Zacharias sauntered back over to them, dusting his hands off and coolly accepting Hannah's and Ernie's congratulations. "We're entirely at your service tonight, since classes haven't started yet."
"The library," murmured Harry, trying to figure out how he was supposed to be in charge of four second-year Hufflepuffs. "If none of you mind?"
"Of course not," said Justin. "Like I said, yours for tonight. We'll work out the guard schedule later."
"I don't need a guard schedule—"
"Yes, you do," said Ernie. Harry had always thought of him as pompous. He had forgotten that pomposity could hide immense seriousness. "You need some kind of protection, Harry. I think Riddle could come back. And there are any number of people who might still like to hurt you until you get your stupid brother under control. The Ravenclaws are being idiots about it, still. The professors won't do anything because they don't know enough. We're coming along with you."
"We really don't mind," Hannah said, giving him a soft smile. "Justin told us how you saved his life. That matters to us, Harry. Justin's our friend. So you're our friend. And you saved a friend's life."
"Hufflepuff loyalty," Draco muttered.
"Would you like to explain why that's less than Slytherin loyalty?" Zacharias asked, leaning forward.
Draco declined hastily, and they trooped off to the library. Harry went along, his brains still scrambled, trying to decide how he was going to rescue Connor from the depths of his own stupidity.
"Harry. I need to talk to you."
Harry turned around, his eyes wide. He had gone into the shelves to return a book on Transfigurations to its proper place, barely out of sight of the table where Draco and the Hufflepuffs sat making idle conversation, and he hadn't heard anyone come up behind him. But there stood Hermione Granger, one of her hands yanking at her a curl of her hair. She caught his eye, then looked away from him and flushed.
"Is it Connor?" Harry asked, his mind springing to the worst possibility. "What's wrong?"
Hermione folded her arms and glared at him, her nervousness apparently dissipated. "Not him. Don't worry about him. He got exactly what he deserved. Harry, I wanted to say—that I'm sorry. I don't know why I went along with Connor for so long. I just felt compelled. On the other hand, I let him mess everything up with that legal document that I prepared against you. I knew it had to be read to the Headmaster to be legal, and I let him read it in the entrance hall anyway." She closed her eyes. "And he said there weren't any Gryffindor Death Eaters, and I thought of Peter Pettigrew, and didn't say anything. I was being stupid, or making myself be stupid, because I think there's something good in Connor, and I thought he was trying to do a good thing. And then it turned out that you fought off the possession and saved Justin's life, and I didn't know what to think. Tonight was the last straw. If Hufflepuffs think you're not evil, you're not evil. I trust their judgment over anything Connor says."
Harry let out a slow breath. As much as he appreciated the apology, he thought that Connor needed her friendship more than he did. "Don't you want to stay friends with Connor, Hermione?" he asked. "I don't think he would like you coming to me and talking to me like this."
Hermione huffed and put her hands up. "You're just like him sometimes," she said. "And like Ron. Boys. You tell girls what to do, and you don't even realize you're doing it." Her glare this time was more pointed.
Harry felt himself flush. "Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean it that way—I mean, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I meant that I thought your friendship with him was important to you."
"It is," said Hermione, and for the first time, Harry detected a slight red puffinessa round her eyes, as if she'd spent some time crying about it. "But it's not more important than truth and sense! I'd break all the school rules to help Connor if he wanted me to. But he's breaking too many principles. If I'm going to do the right thing, then I have to apologize to you and then tell him that I can't support his ridiculous campaign of rumors against you anymore."
Harry swallowed. He knew that feeling. He was doing the right thing now, he thought, but it would put Connor's back further up and hurt him in the meantime. Harry was determined to reach the day when he could put his arms around Connor again and know his brother truly welcomed him, and wasn't just embracing him for the sake of their parents or their blood birth. He would work towards it as hard as he could, even if he made it harder for himself, because, in the end, it would be better for Connor than coddling and being lied to. It had to be.
"So," said Hermione, when they'd stood in silence for a moment. "Do you accept my apology?" Her hand had gone back to yanking at her hair again.
Harry nodded. "Thank you, Hermione. I know this was hard for you. And—well, come to me if you want to talk about anything."
"Thank you," said Hermione, and flashed Harry a small smile before she turned away. Harry watched her go. He wondered if he would have the strength to choose the right thing over friendship with Connor, if he'd still been in his brother's good graces and this was happening to someone else.
Well, he'd already done it, in a way. He'd defended Draco against what Connor wanted him to do.
That wasn't the start to this whole mess, he thought, but it was close. The mess had really started the day he was placed in Slytherin. If he'd been strong, if he'd been true to Connor, he would have ignored Draco's attempts at friendship and simply stuck to Connor's side no matter what.
But that would have hurt Draco, and surely that wouldn't have been right, either.
Harry shook his head and gathered up the book he'd come to find. In a way, perhaps he had made the right decision. Connor was made of stronger stuff than Draco. They would get past this eventually, and repair their brotherhood. Draco would have sulked and sulked forever if Harry had refused him, his happiness becoming bitter resentment.
And that may still happen in the future, when you finally make him understand Connor is most important.
Harry shoved that thought away. He thought of Draco's Christmas present instead, and the expression he would wear when he received it.
As it turned out, his first expression was puzzlement. He held up the crystalline bottle Harry had given him and tilted it back and forth, staring at the lights in it. The lights had turned out rather well, Harry thought. They swarmed and sparkled through several different colors, red and purple and green and gold, all deep and jewel-like in hue.
"I don't understand," Draco finally admitted, after studying the bottle for several moments. "What is it?"
Harry smiled at him. "Gold represents calmness and contentment, red means anger, green means fondness and friendship, and purple means protectiveness," he recited. The description of the spell he'd used to create the lights said as much.
Draco stared at him. "And?"
"Those lights are the emotions I feel for you," said Harry. He shrugged when Draco stared at him harder. "I know that you miss the mind-bond, but no, I'm not going to let you back into my thoughts. But this way, you'll still know how I'm feeling about you. You can look into the bottle whenever you think that I might be ignoring you or losing interest in our friendship, and be reassured."
Draco shut his eyes. Harry watched the bottle glow bright green, and then looked back at Draco's face as his eyes opened. There was a distinct shimmer there. Harry blinked. Are those tears? Why?
"Thank you," said Draco. "Thank you, Harry." He lay down, the bottle cradled in his hands, and stared at it.
Harry, glad that his gift appeared to have gone over well, turned to studying the Transfigurations book he'd taken out of the library. A moment later, Draco reached over and caught his hand tightly.
Harry peered at him, but Draco didn't look at his face, just held his hand. Harry shrugged, deciding that it would work and he would never understand Draco anyway, and started reading again, while the light in the bottle alternated steadily between green and gold. Draco never took his eyes off it.